I am dedicating a portion of my sabbatical to learning how to play the Ukulele. I’ve played guitar since college, self-taught and follow along student (with a big hat tip to my old college mates Benno & Josh). I never progressed all that much in the guitar, but can hold the basic chords together. Tomorrow morning is my first lesson, at home thanks to Wames Music Tutorial Center and Teacher Tep.

Haven’t yet committed to buying a Uke, but found a great little Uke Store/Coffee Shop that is very nice in Cubao near where we are living in Quezon City. The Four Strings feels like a good old fashioned cooperative and startup entrepreneurial millennial project. I love it.

I’ve been all talk and no action for months now on restarting my blog. After a week of decompressing in the Philippines, I’ve decided I need to set some goals. Like a good organizer 😉 I’m not talking a workplan mind you…

Not too long ago humankind made decisions rooted in violent power. Those with the most power got their way by force. Those with the most power still wield incredible influence and try hard to suppress the less powerful, yet it is not as absolute.

Tomorrow is Election Day and voting is not only making decisions on who will lead for your family and community and what issues will be supported or defeated. It is also a spiritual practice of peace making. So many people lack the ability to vote and suffer at the hands of political violence. We remind ourselves of our humanity and human rights when we choose to cast our ballots.

I loved legos as a kid. I had this huge tub of those classic multi-colored blocks in my bedroom. I’d pull them out and root around with my hands as the legos made that crashing sound that only small little pieces of plastic can make. My two best friends would come over and together we would build epic castles and towns complete with colorful streets, schools, fire stations, and homes. We’d mix in little green army guys, a transformer here and there, and build towers with poker chips for good measure. At the end we had our masterpiece. We spent hours, even days, putting it all together. Then it was time for the real fun. Breaking it down!

We would gather up all my stuffed animals, balls and other poor toys, and hide around the corner from my bedroom floor. Then we would take turns without looking and lob the toys at our masterpiece. We could hear the crashes, and excitedly guessed what we may have toppled. Was it the castle? Did we knock down the invading green army guys? After a few rounds, we’d all swoop back in making ambulance siren sounds, and go to work on repairing the broken buildings and caring for the casualties. This cycle repeated for days.

I have three kids, and I’ve watched each of them break a lot of toys. Sometimes it is on purpose, sometimes it is purely accidental. It seems though that there are a lot of lessons.

When I first learned of the terrible injustices inflicted by people upon people I felt very helpless. I think a part of my life has been spent trying understand these realities in part to sustain my ministry in a more holistic way.

One of the rituals I formed as a young adult was to do my best to always consider my physical place and ask about the people who called it their home in the present and past. I always learn something new. Another ethos I developed is around only traveling to places where I have a relationship and invitation. I can’t say I honored this all the time, but it is one that I feel has grown stronger as I have aged and have more class privilege to visit places of my choosing.

Lastly, I have sought to intentionally be present in places where there have been terrible injustices and great transformations. I make it a point to bring myself to locations that have meaning for social justice – both in terms of remembering our history and to feel my body in the same spot where others have struggled.

Once I stepped out onto the country roadside to look upon the lightly wooded ravine in South Dakota and upon a simple billboard that honored the Massacre at Wounded Knee. I can still feel the sight of the beautiful murals at San Francisco State University and the sharp edges of the buildings where 1960s students of color went on strike for equity in education. My partner and I stayed a month in one of the Zapatista Caracols in Chiapas after engaging for years in solidarity work. Our family took a tour into the Old City of Manila where thousands were killed during World War II.

This winter we may visit Tule Lake Internment Camp where thousands of Japanese Americans were imprisoned in America’s WWII concentration camp. A place that continued on as dilapidated farmworker housing. And we will continue to make visits to meet people who are the hearts and souls in our movement building work, from young people in East Portland to elders who share their stories with us around the campfire.

Saltwater and bits of seaweed stick to my glasses
Close up an ax is raised over a barnacled rock
You can hear the rapid babel of Chinese and feel the Old Men across the jetty look up at the back of your head
A crack rings out, everyone relaxes, senses go calm
Another delicacy of the sea is gathered while youngsters strut across the beach
The fog horn rings out protecting this place
Where land and rock and sea and sky meet

I can not trust a system that is not willing to protect people of color. – From a friend and organizing colleague in Portland, Oregon

My communities of pastors, human rights activists and neighbors are reeling from the news this evening that Zimmerman was found not guilty for the killing of young teenager Travyon Martin in Florida. A culture clash of values at work, wrapped in a racialized media blanket and a desensitized American public that persistently dehumanizes people of color while fueling fear and militant individualism. Why we need to keep coming together. From those I love — Continue reading →